Caught in the Middle
by mochaloca85
Summary: A George x Angelina story. I upped the rating for language, sex, future violence, and quite a bit of alcohol use.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, not even The Daily Grind (which I moved to England and changed from a dessertery for no reason)…blah, blah, blah; yadda, yadda, yadda.

A/N: This is the interlude/prologue for a story I started a few months ago. I might post it over the summer holiday, but until then this will just have to serve as a teaser trailer. And AF and I are working on updating all our stories, so that you'll have something to do while we're stuck studying for finals for the next couple of weeks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A tall, raven-haired woman stepped out of the fireplace and into The Daily Grind, a sophisticated, but cosy café situated on the outskirts of North London and approached the host.

The host recognised her immediately and nearly knocked over his podium to reach her. "Good evening, Ms Weasley. Your companion is already here. Please follow me to your table," he said in a clipped, butler-like accent before leading the young woman to an intimate table set for two in the back of the restaurant. 

Once she reached the table, an even taller (albeit only by a few centimetres) redheaded man of the same age greeted her with a teasing smile that made her stomach do gymnastics every time she saw it. "You're late," he accused good-naturedly while standing up and pulling out her chair.

"Two minutes. And it's the first time I've been late for anything in the fourteen years that you've known me."

"So? You know the rule: he who is late pays for the date. I thought my wallet would never get any relief."

The woman's mouth twisted into a grin. "It isn't. You just said it yourself: _he_ who is late. We go dutch." 

"I only said 'he' because _I'm_ usually the late one. But I'm not really hungry. So why don't we skip dinner and just go home and have dessert," the man shot back, raising a suggestive eyebrow. 

The woman shook her head. "Forget it. Now that Oliver has been named the new captain of Puddlemere, it's like we're back at Hogwarts. We've been practising for the Chudley match all day and I have yet to eat anything." 

The young man laughed. "If I remember correctly, you were the same way as captain."

"Your memory must be off in your old age because I was nowhere near as bad as Oliver."

"Oh yes, you were. _And_ I'd like to remind you that you're older than I am."

"It's six-and-a-half months!"

"Yeah, well think about those six-and-a-half months next time you call me old!" The playful expression on the young man's face changed into a pensive one. "You hate that, don't you?" he asked.

"Hate what?" the woman asked back, clearly confused. 

"Playing for Wood again."

She smacked her head in frustration. "I just told you that I've been worked to the brink of exhaustion and I haven't eaten anything all day. Of course, I hate it."

"That's not what I meant. I meant being traded to Puddlemere United. I know how badly you wanted to play for the Harpies," he said with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

"Yeah, well, I also wanted a husband who wouldn't shag any willing witch," the woman answered with more than a tinge of icy bitterness colouring her words. She then took a sip of her champagne in an attempt to hide her regret for broaching the subject. Talking about her soon-to-be ex-husband was not how she envisioned this night with her boyfriend.

Unfortunately, her beau didn't catch the hint. "Actually, the last one was a Muggle. But that's beside the point. I warned you before you married him. Came out and said that it was the biggest mistake you could make."

"And, yet, you were still the best man at the wedding," she replied, a bit more snidely than she intended.

"Hey, what could I have done? He was my brother and you were my best friend. Who else was going to do it?"

"You could've kidnapped me or something. Made sure I didn't make it to the altar."

"Now you're being silly."

"A little," the young woman admitted with a slight blush. "But you still could've done something."

"You're right; there was one other thing I could have done: told you that I loved you. If I had, would that have changed anything?"

"At the time, no."

"I rest my case."

The pair sat in silence and sipped their glasses of champagne. Then the woman spoke up. "So George, what kind of dessert did you have in mind?"

George Weasley smiled at his soon-to-be ex-sister-in-law. "The kind that involves you, whipped cream, and cherries. Maybe a little chocolate syrup."

Angelina Johnson-Weasley tossed the idea around in her head for a few seconds before a slow grin spread across her face. She slapped down enough pounds to cover the cost of their Cristal and stood. "I'll be in the bedroom with the whipped cream," she said before Disapparating with a 'pop'. 

George waited around for a few seconds, trying to make sense of his girlfriend's last sentence. She never turned down food; it was amazing that she was still so thin. "Wait a minute. There's amazing sex to be had. Why the hell am I still here?" As he stood up to follow his girlfriend, it dawned on him that they were out of cherries. "Eh, screw the cherries," he muttered and he Disapparated, also with a loud 'pop'.


	2. One

_

* * *

BRRIIINNG!_ The telephone on the bedside table rang, waking Angelina up from the dream she had been in the middle of. The same dream she'd been having for the last six months: the one where she had chosen George instead of Fred at Hogwarts. _Oh well_, she thought as glanced at the sleeping form next to her, _better late than never_. A particularly loud snore came from her lover and she had to stifle a laugh. _Even if he sounds like a bloody lawnmower. _

_BRRIIINNG!_ The phone rang again and unfortunately for Angelina (who was the epitome of laziness these days), it was on George's side of the bed, which meant that she'd have to climb over him to answer it. After mulling over it for what seemed like forever (in actuality, it was only three seconds: just enough time for a third ring), she finally made a move to pick up the receiver…and immediately found herself on her back with George smirking above her. "Let them leave a message," he growled in what he thought was a sexy way.

Angelina couldn't help laughing. "But what if it's someone important?" she managed to choke out between giggles.

George put on his best hurt look, complete with sad puppy eyes. "But what if it's not? Do you really want to take that chance? What about me? What about my needs?"

"George…"

"I mean, if you're gonna rip out my heart, could you at least use a knife that's dull and rust in colour?"

"Fine, Ryan Key. But could you check the Caller ID? Oh and there's no 'at least' in that line."

"Must you always be so damn anal-retentive?"

"Are you actually expecting an answer to that?"

Finally, a distinctly male voice spoke over the answering machine. "Danisha, you should really get a fireplace because this Muggle machine is a piece of crap. Anyway, it's your brother/lawyer…"

That's as far as Bryant Wesley Johnson Jr. got before his younger sister appeared on the line (after pushing her boyfriend off her, but he didn't need to know that). "How many times have I told you not to call me that, _Bryant_?" she asked, blatantly ignoring the 'you owe me' look that George was shooting in her direction.

"But I love getting a rise out of you, Ange. Besides, at least Mum gave you a good name. _I_ got stuck with Dad's."

"How is everything?"

"Everything's fine. Kendra's fine and so is Janine," he replied, referring to his wife and nine-year-old daughter.

"Cut the crap, Wes. I _know_ you didn't call me at this ungodly to tell me that everything is 'fine', bro."

"Do you want the good news or the bad first?"

"Which d'you think?"

"The good news is that the community property laws in Britain favour you and you might be able to get alimony."

"Really?" _That'd be awesome_, she thought.

"Yeah."

"Then what's the bad news?"

"It's three things, actually?"

"_THREE?!_"

"Three," Wes confirmed. "One, he's trying to block the divorce. He's claiming that he has a sexual addiction and he's in therapy to get over it. His attorney has been harassing me about getting you to go to counseling with him so that you can 'put this nonsense behind you and fix your marriage'."

"Dragonshit!" Angelina swore and George looked at her with concern in his eyes. 'I'll tell you in a minute,' she mouthed. "Who the hell does he think he is, Eric Benét?"

"There's still more."

"What could be worse than that?"

"Even if Fred wasn't blocking the proceedings, most of his money is tied up with his brother's in those joke shops."

Which meant George might end up bankrolling both her alimony _and_ his twin's legal fees. "Do I even want to know what the third thing is?"

"Probably not. It's the worst."

"It couldn't possibly get much worse. Let me have it."

"Well, you asked for it. Due to our parents being who they are and considering what you do for a living…"

"Just say it, will you!"

"You're worth a helluva lot more than he is, so he could ask for spousal support to keep him in the lifestyle he grew accustomed to with you."

Angelina groaned. "What lifestyle? I'm a corporate accountant, not Naomi Campbell! I live in a one-bedroom flat in North London, for Merlin's sake!"

"But your parents _are_ independently wealthy. _And _your Mum is a Lestrange, if you really want to get technical with it," George added cheekily from his position on the bed. "And don't forget you still play professional Quidditch."

"Shut up. No, not you, Wes. I was talking to someone else."

"I'm not going to touch that with a fifty-foot pole, sis. Anyway, everything I'm telling you are just 'what ifs' right now. So don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Don't patronise me; I'm a big girl. And I'm not interested in 'what ifs'; I want to know about 'what _is_'and 'what is _gonna be_'." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly counted to ten before speaking. "What are our options?"

"Do you want this as your big brother or as your attorney?"

Angelina choked down a moan. Sometimes her brother was beyond infuriating. "Does it make a difference," she asked slowly while trying to keep her temper under control.

"Yes, it does. A big difference, actually," he replied in an even, condescending tone. The one he used when dealing with his Muggle clients in Wales. Even though he was a half-blood, he was still convinced that wizards (and witches) were more intelligent than those of the non-magical persuasion were.

"I want it as _you_, Bryant Wesley Johnson Jr."

It was Wes's turn to take a deep breath. "Well, you can halt the divorce proceedings…"

"Not going to happen."

"Well, exactly _how_ close are you to his brother?"

_I'm sleeping with him and we're going to elope as soon as this divorce is final_. "He's one of my best friends. My confidante on Alicia's days off, in fact."

"Uh-huh."

"What the bloody hell do you mean by 'uh-huh'."

"I mean I'd really like to see you take Fred for everything, but since his assets are tied up in those shops…"

"I'm meeting George for breakfast. I'll ask him then." _Well, it's not a total lie; we ARE going to eat breakfast together. Eventually._ "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah. Mum and Dad are back from their safari and they want to go out for dinner tonight. And Mum said that saying no isn't an option and to bring George with you. Kendra just said that it's at the Connaught Hotel."

"How the hell did she know?"

"Alicia. Must've been one of her days off. You really should find new friends. Bye, sis. See you at eight."

"Damn Ravenclaw arsehole," she muttered as she hung up.

"What's wrong?" George asked from behind her. "You seem tense."

"I'm fine. It's just that my dear brother called me to give me a bunch of bad news." She filled George in while he gave her a massage. "So what do you think I should do? And be honest."

"Do you want this as your boyfriend, Fred's brother, your confidante, or his identical twin?"

Why did the men in her life always say that? "Why does it matter?"

"Because I'm in the middle of this and as a result, I'm privy to stuff that each of you doesn't know about the other. Being both his twin and your boyfriend kind of presents me with a conflict-of-interest."

"Fine. Then I want it as someone who knows how both of our minds work."

"Okay, you asked for it. You are entitled to the house and domestic things like that because he cheated on you constantly, but you don't need alimony—no matter how badly you were hurt—simply because you make more in a week than we do in a month. On top of that, your parents are still independently wealthy and they have millions of Galleons in stocks and bonds, not to mention of a ten-million pound insurance policy that you and Wes will split if they get eaten by a lion or something. Besides, you'll have a controlling interest in 3W if you get half of his half because we'll be married. And that wouldn't be very good if you decide that you want to divorce me since you're also our financial advisor and know more about our money than we do."

"You make some very good points, Mr. Weasley."

"But…"

"There's no but. You're right about everything. Except for divorcing you, anyway. But I don't want the house; there's too many bad memories there."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"Serve him papers and not ask for anything in return." She looked at the time on the phone, which said 10:15. "I've got to get out of here."

George looked at her with a confused look on his face. "I thought we were having breakfast together."

"That was before I remembered I had a meeting with a client at 11:00. And I still have to shower and…" She looked at the raised eyebrow and the grin on her lover's face. "No, you can't join me; I'll never get out otherwise."

"But…"

"The answer is 'no', George." She watched his facial features change and she knew the puppy pout was coming. "Look, baby, I'll make it up to you tonight. Oh and before I forget, we're having dinner with my parents tonight at the Connaught. And it's really posh, so no dragonskin. I need you look at least semi-metrosexualish."

"We?"

"Alicia told my mum about us. And _you_ have to get going to your own flat, anyway. 'Tis a Hogsmeade weekend, my love, and if you don't leave now, Fred'll kill you." And with that, Angelina flounced into the bathroom.

"You really owe me for this, _Danisha_!"

"Don't call me that!" was the muffled response from the bathroom.

George felt it would be a good idea for him to get out before his girlfriend hexed the hell out of him.

* * *

Fred Weasley was happier than he'd been in a long time. Okay, he wasn't, but it was a Hogsmeade weekend so he was busy enough that he could take his mind off his shitty life.

It just didn't seem real. His wife was leaving him. _Had_ left him.

Not that he blamed her; it _was_ entirely his fault. He'd been a bad boyfriend at school and an even worse husband. If he'd been Angelina, he'd have walked out on him too.

He was angry with himself for breaking the heart of the woman he loved.

But he was angrier with her.

She could have stuck it out, he thought. _If she wanted to leave, she should've left six years ago._ "I hate her," he muttered aloud.

George appeared beside him with a loud pop. "You hate whom?"

"Who d'you think?"

"Celine Dion? I swear Hermione has the worst taste in Muggle music," George replied in a chipper voice.

Fred stared at his brother in disbelief. "George, that might be the most unfunny thing I have ever heard you say."

"Well, _someone_ got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"And someone _else_ needs to learn to get to work on time. You should've been here hours ago; where were you?"

Shagging your soon-to-be ex-wife. "I was at my girlfriend's place." Fred winced as they watched the last customers leave. "Sorry about that." _You don't have any idea how._

"You shouldn't be. It's not like Angie left me for you." This time George cringed, but Fred didn't notice. "Besides, it's my fault. Only my fault."

George took a deep breath before continuing his half of the conversation. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I'm seeing a therapist and doing everything I can to block the divorce." He ran his fingers through his hair. "She won't even talk to me, Forge. There's a restraining order against me at the office and at the Puddlemere stadium. Last I talked to my lawyer, she and Wes were trying to have one put on me for all the stadiums when Puddlemere's playing."

"Damn," George whispered with a shake of his head. But he knew all of this already.

"That's not all. I don't know even know where she's living. Alicia, Lee, and Katie won't tell me, Wes hates my guts, and her parents are on some safari tour of Africa. I've tried Flooing there, but her place isn't on the network…" He looked up at his brother. "What have I done?"

"Do you want…" George started to say before stopping, realising that his twin had no way of knowing that he was still in contact with Angelina. "You're a guy. It's our job to screw things up."

"Yeah, but not things like this. I mean, _you'd_ never do anything like this; Angelina even said so. 'Why can't you be more like George?' is what she said, if you really want to get technical." Fred replayed the words he just spoke in his head and stared at George in disbelief. "You know where she is, don't you?"

"Well, uh, no."

"You always were a bad liar. To me, anyway. So where is she?"

"She doesn't want you to know. You yourself just said that she had restraining orders put on you!"

"Fine. Could you at least tell her that I'm in therapy? That I want to save our marriage? We could if she'd only talk to me."

"She knows and doesn't believe a word of it."

Fred grabbed the front of his twin's shirt. "Make her believe it! I can't lose her; I just can't."

"Fred…"

"Look, I know I fucked up. Royally. But you are my only link to my wife right now; you're the only hope I have of saving my marriage. _You._ Give me your word that you'll talk to her."

George sighed. He couldn't believe what he was about to say, but… "Fine. I'll talk to her tonight."

"Swear on your twindom. Swear that you'll tell her everything I just told you."

"I swear. Damn! Now let go of me!"

Fred let go of George's shirt and sighed. "Sorry about that. It's just that I love her so much, you know. Not being with her is killing me."

Never seemed to bother you before, George thought. "Yeah, I…" He didn't get to finish his sentence because just then another influx of Hogwarts students entered the shop and Fred had leapt over the counter to retrieve a Third Year that had fallen through the trapdoor in the middle of aisles three and four. _Angie is going to bloody kill me._

* * *

A/N: This story takes place in the present (early November of 2003 if you really want to be exact), so don't be alarmed if I throw in lines from fairly recent songs. In fact, let's make it a game. In every chapter (starting with this one) I'll work a line from a song into the story. I'll give you the line and artist and see how many of you can get the song. Bonus points if you can figure out the album (which might be harder because I have a fair amount of EPs and B-Sides and stuff like that). I'll keep track of points and whoever has the most at the end of the fic, I'll send you like a CD of all the songs or something. Yeah, I haven't worked all the kinks out yet. Can you tell it's 1:00 AM and I'm in the midst of a bet? (Going vegan for a full month; no eggs or dairy until July 4th. I feel light-headed; it's like going veg all over again.)

Anyway, the line is from a Yellowcard song and it's:

"If you're gonna rip out my heart, could you use a knife that's dull and rust in color?" 

Good luck.


	3. Two

Gryffindor Lions are expected to be brave, but there's an exception to the rule in every year. For Chasers on the 1990-1996 Gryffindor Quidditch team, it wasn't just an expectation, it was a prerequisite.

At the current moment, Alicia Spinnet felt like she should have been in Hufflepuff.

"Angie, will you just calm down and let me explain? Please," she pleaded while looking for a way to escape her best friend's office short of jumping out the window.

"Let you explain? What you're telling me is that you can explain how news of my marriage falling apart reached my parents in the jungles of Africa? Then by all means, explain."

"Okay, maybe I can't explain. Lee, Katie, help me out here!"

Lee and Katie (Bell) Jordan shook their heads. "Sorry, Leesh," Katie replied, not even trying to hide the amusement on her face. "_We_ kept our mouths shut."

Lee, the most soft-spoken member of the group, chose that moment to interject. "Ange, how did you know that Blabbermouth over there told your parents everything?"

Angelina sighed for the millionth time since her brother's phone call that morning. "Wes called this morning. My parents are back from Africa and volere cenare con George e con me all'una dei ristoranti più costosi della città," she answered, breaking into one of the six languages her parents insisted she learn and gesturing wildly with her hands.

"Angie, you know no one understands you when you start speaking Spanish," Alicia piped up, temporarily forgetting that Angelina was none too pleased with her at the moment.

"It was _Italian_, not Spanish."

"Whatever. You just can't resist flaunting the fact that you attended Muggle boarding school before you started Hogwarts, can you?"

"Alicia Dawn Spinnet, if you do not want me to hex you into the middle of next week, I suggest that you shut your trap."

"Sheesh. Fine, but could you at least translate for those of us who don't speak every language under the bloody sun?" Angelina shot her best friend a look and Alicia's mouth snapped shut.

"I said that my parents want to have dinner with George and me tonight in one of the most expensive restaurants in town."

"Which one?" Katie asked, now getting interested.

"The Connaught."

"As in the hotel?!" Katie screeched.

"Yeah."

"So what are you gonna wear? What are you gonna do with your hair? I think we should definitely Apparate to Madam Malkin's right now and…"

"Katie, honey," Lee interrupted, "I realise you're excited about this, but weren't we here to discuss business?"

"Lee, honey," Katie answered in the same sickly sweet tone, "this is more important. So shut up."

Alicia rolled her eyes. "Both of you, shut up." She then turned to Angelina. "Ignore them. You can't just show up in dress robes; there are too many Muggles there. So what _were_ you going to wear?"

Angelina shook her head. "I don't know. My pinstriped power-suit?"

Alicia rolled her eyes again. "You can't wear _that_, Ange. You've got to stop thinking in terms of sophisticated corporate financier and start thinking like your mother."

"I'm not my mum, Leesh; I can't wear all those wild clothes like she does."

"She's not saying that you should be your mother; she's just telling you to embrace your wealth," Katie responded, catching on. "What's the point of having so much money if you never spend it? You should splurge every once in a while, and this is one of those times."

"I'm not—"

"Angelina Danisha Johnson, you are one of the most affluent women—Muggle or witch—in Britain and it's time you started ACTING LIKE IT!!!" Katie noticed that her voice had raised itself of its own accord (sounding suspiciously like her mother) and she managed to bring it back down to its normal pitch. "All we're saying is take a cue from the rest of your family. Like Wes: you never see him out of Armani, do you? He's always dressed properly for whatever occasion."

Angelina shook her head. "That's because Wes has Giorgio design an entire wardrobe for him every season."

Lee, who had taken to sitting back and watching his wife and friends argue about clothes, chose that moment to speak. "He does? Really?" He sighed enviously. "Merlin, I wish I had your money."

"You shouldn't. I think the whole thing is ridiculous." _Do I really? If do, then why haven't I given It all up? Maybe they're right; I should stop running from this. Is it really so bad to have money?_

"Yeah, well we don't," Alicia tossed at her casually. "Now stand up and levitate so we can decide what we need to buy."

Feeling tired of arguing about it, Angelina obliged. Katie summoned her Quick-Quotes Quill and a pad of paper (much easier to write on than parchment) while Alicia called out measurements as they appeared around Angelina's body. "Height: 180.975 centimetres…weight: 54.8846804 kilos…bust: 91.44…waist: 60.959999999999994…hips: 91.44…dark brown hair…honey-tan eyes…medium skin." The measurements vanished, Angelina lowered herself out of the air, and Katie repeated the string of numbers back.

Lee, having an unusual eye for color and design, threw his hat into the ring. "So what we're looking for is an elegant column gown, preferably in red, yellow, or white, that's a size six and shows off Angie's figure."

"No yellow; I hate that colour," Angelina said indignantly.

"No white, either," Alicia added. "It's too wedding-y."

"So definitely red?" Lee asked.

"Yeah."

"Can't it be more of a claret?" Angelina asked.

"Nope," Lee answered shaking his head. "It's got to be bright to set off your skin tone. I was thinking more of a Gryffindor scarlet."

"Hair?" Katie asked, her quill poised above the pad of paper.

"Up, with two tendrils framing her face. Maybe some highlights to match. Make-up should be 1920's Hollywood-like: simple, but elegant and sophisticated. The same thing with the jewellery. The overall effect should say 'I'm _the_ diva!' " The three women stared at him in amazement. "What?"

"Lee," Katie began slowly, "is there something you're keeping from me? Now that I think about it, you've always been a snazzy dresser."

"What? No! My Uncle Martin is gay. I learned everything I know about fashion from him." He turned to Angelina. "Actually, Ange, you could wear just about anything and get away with it. It's one of the major defining characteristics in your family: your mum and brother are the same way. So, we should probably opt for something strapless or with a halter because they're semi-fitted and it'll definitely show off your body. We want it to be tight, but not look like it's painted on."

Angelina stared at him with a mixture of amusement and amazement. "Are you sure you haven't been replaced by one of the Fab Five?"

"Angelina?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to look good tonight?"

"Yes."

"Then shut up and take my advice."

"Well, who makes a dress like that?"

Lee and Alicia groaned and Katie threw her hands up in disgust. "Oh sweet Merlin. Being rich has been wasted on you."

Lee rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "What my lovely wife _meant_ to say was that anyone makes them, but you need to get one in the best fabric you can get. After all, for you, money is no object."

Alicia's mouth twisted into a grin. "I know the perfect dress! It's designed by DeBora Rachelle and, Angie, you'll love it. It's not quite as expensive as we'd like, but it's perfect." She grabbed her best friend's hand. "Angelina, you're coming with me. Lee, Katie, we'll be back in about fifteen minutes."

"Why do _I_ have to go?"

"Because _you're_ the one whose name and Platinum Visa equal unlimited spending everywhere in the world." She smiled. "I'd buy it for you, but I have bad credit."

* * *

A Few Seconds Later…

Angelina found herself standing on the pavement in front of the exclusive boutique DeBora Rachelle Couture in Los Angeles, California. It looked so gaudy from the outside with the tawdry cotton candy pink-and-white striped awning hanging over the door. _I can't believe Alicia dragged me here. I bet it looks like Madam Puddifoot's inside._

"What are we waiting for, Ange?" came Alicia's voice, jolting Angelina from her thoughts. "We're operating on a different time zone here and you still need to do something with your hair and nails." She pushed her best friend into the store and walked up to the cashier. "Greta, I need to see a halter dress in red for my friend. Size 6."

Greta shook her head. "Spinnet, are you going to buy something this time? Because if you aren't…"

Alicia cut her off. "No, but my friend is. I think it's item number PO327."

Greta headed towards the back and Angelina turned to Alicia. "You come here and don't buy anything?"

Alicia shrugged her shoulders. "Can't afford it. I live on a budget because I have to and whatever money I get goes right back into the bakery. Sometimes I just like to look at the stuff I wish I could have." _We all can't have the world handed to us on a silver platter, Angie_¸ she thought and instantly regretted it. _It's not like Angelina asked to be born rich. And it's not like she ever saw her parents much: she was in year-round boarding school until she started Hogwarts._

Angelina started to open her mouth, but was interrupted by Greta coming back with the most gorgeous red dress she had ever seen in her life. It was a two-piece halter and skirt. The top half was covered in rhinestones. The skirt had a layered hem with a split up to mid-thigh. Like the halter, the hem was covered in rhinestones. She let out the breath she had been holding. "It's beautiful."

"Told you, Ange. George won't be able to keep his hands off you tonight." Alicia then turned back to Greta. "We also want the matching garter, shawl, jewellery, and strapless bra. Size five."

For the first time since the two women had walked in, the tall blonde holding the gown cracked a smile. "What, no tiara?"

"Nah. I think this is the most Angelina's ever spent on herself at one time. If we buy much more, she'll go into shock."

"I'll throw the matching thong in for free, then."

"Matching thong?!" Angelina asked, just the _tiniest _bit annoyed. "Alicia, I'm not you!"

"Trust us, Angie. We know what we're doing."

"Well, can I at least see the jewellery?"

"Certainly," Greta obliged and led Angelina and Alicia to the jewellery case on the other side of the counter. "It's this set," she added, pointing to a white gold CZ necklace and earring set that was shaped like miniature daggers. Angelina gasped in surprise at how elegant it all looked.

Alicia smirked at her mate's reaction. "Do you trust us now?" All Angelina could do was nod. "Good. Greta, throw in the white baby doll in a 36C and then we can look at shoes."

"Shoes?" Angelina asked in a daze.

This time Greta laughed outright. "Methinks Ms. Johnson has already gone into shock."

Alicia shrugged her shoulders. "You think this is bad, I'll bring you a picture of her when she gets her Visa bill."

For shoes, the women opted for a pair of white satin sandals with three-inch heels and crystals on the strap and a matching handbag. Followed by Candy Apple-coloured nail polish with a glitter topcoat and a nail strengthening kit. And somehow Greta managed to convince Angelina to buy the tiara. By the time Angelina was ready for checkout, the price of the perfect dress had somehow skyrocketed from $270 to $635.45. And when she had attempted to get rid of everything but the dress, Alicia stopped her with "You can afford it. Live a little. Think of what George will say when he sees you in that dress." Then she stood on her tiptoes to whisper into the taller girl's ear. "Think of what he'll _do_ when he sees you in that lingerie."

"Shit! George!" Angelina exclaimed, mentally berating herself. "Leesh, do you have your mobile? I forgot mine and I need to call Lee."

"It's all yours." Alicia tossed her friend the small Motorola V300 series phone.

Angelina, having the same kind of phone, hit the speed dial. "Lee? I need you to go shopping with George. Because he'll buy something that completely clashes with his hair. Just put it on my Visa. I'll call the credit card company and let them know. Just don't go overboard. No, don't make him get a haircut; I like his hair long and shaggy. Okay, maybe a trim. I'm warning you, Jordan. I won't let you play me for a fool. Fine, whatever. Good-bye." She tossed the phone back to her friend. "Maybe I should send you and Katie with them."

"Nah. Just send Katie; you and I have still have to get your hair and nails done."

"But there are charms for that! And we just bought nail stuff!"

"No, _you_ just bought nail stuff. And we're going to Ragdale Hall because this divorce thing has you completely stressed out and you need to relax."

"_RAGDALE!!!_" Angelina nearly screamed. "That's in bloody Leicestershire!"

"So? It's been voted the best health spa in the UK for the last three years. Now bring your lazy arse and come on!"

* * *

A/N: The last chapter's line was from Yellowcard's "Avondale" off _The Underdog _EP. Nobody got it though. This chapter's line is by the Ataris:

"I won't let you play me for a fool." And no, it's not from "Angry Nerd Rock" (my favourite Ataris' song for no reason that I can put my hands on). If you can figure it out, you'll laugh loudly. Hopefully. Next chapter, Lee teaches George all about metrosexuality while Katie continues to stare at him in a stunned fashion—bad pun intended—and Angelina and Alicia run into Fred after leaving the spa.

OAS is still on hiatus. It's kind of hard to write Lee—George friendship after you've already done a romance for them. As for WtWS, that should be coming out soon. AF has had drop it due to circumstances beyond his control (his mum's wedding, among other things), so he asked me to finish his half for him. He also gave me incentive to—he'd do the entire next chapter, which is chock full of drama, all by his lonesome.

And remember kiddies, trying to cheer up Emo kids may be detrimental to your health. We're not all weak, pale, and about to break into tears (even though that's more or less most of us). Actually, those are the ones you need to watch out for. I watched the bassist for my other (emo-ish) band beat the crap out of someone yesterday. And he's like this skinny, little, geeky white guy. If I hadn't been so scared for the guy whose ass Mitch was beating, it would have been pretty damn funny.


	4. Three

**Disclaimer**: I don't own EastEnders, though like Harry Potter, I wish I did.

**A/N**: Happy 2006, everybody! This is the sixth time I've rewritten this chapter after my PC crashing. Everyone thank **angelface04** because it was her review of "All of This" that made me not give up on getting it done. You say I inspire you, but you all inspire me as well. Anyway, this is shorter than I promised, but it's because I've split the original Chapter 3 into three parts. This means you get more frequent updates and I have more time to (re)figure out Chapter 7 of OAS and chapter 5 of my Degrassi story. Angie's mother (Lacerta) is named after a constellation that means "lizard" or "reptile." Most befitting of a former Slytherin, don't you think? And yes, I _do_ ship Bellatrix/Voldemort. They have such an interesting, twisted relationship – involving lots and lots of BDSM.

* * *

Angelina found herself outside of the brick castle that was Ragdale Hall Health Hydro and took in the Leicester countryside. She inhaled the scent of freshly cut grass and watched as a man and woman riding two rare gold ivory Champagne horses – Part Arabians by the looks of them – came trotting by. In the split second it took her to process how beautiful it all was, a very large, very familiar-shaped object fell on top of her. In fact, it was shaped like… 

"Alicia Dawn Spinnet, get your fat arse off me!" she yelled, shoving the Spanish witch off her.

Alicia rolled her eyes at her best friend. "One, I am not fat; I'm just curvy. Two, I'd rather be fabulous and thick than some skinny bitch with no tits."

"I like my body," Angelina muttered.

"Of course you do; you have two bags of silicone worth fifty-four thousand, five hundred and twenty-five Galleons sitting on your chest. It's the best investment you've _ever_ made."

"They're saline," came the gritted teeth response.

"They're fake, that's what they are," Alicia quipped in reply. That was the last cheeky comment she got in before Angelina's fist met her face in a smooth, perfectly executed right cross. Her hand flew to her eye as she squinted in pain and whined. "You little bitch! That hurt!"

Angelina mimicked her friend's whine perfectly. "¡Tú puta pequeña¡Eso dolió!" She shook her head in disgust. "Es supuesto, tú bebé grande."

"What have I told you about speaking odd languages, woman?" Alicia asked, remembering their exchange from minutes before.

"Oy. You don't even speak your own language. What the hell kind of Spaniard are you?"

"The kind that's never been to the _Old Country_. For fuck's sake, Angie, you never hear me asking you something in Afrikaans or Swahili or whatever they speak wherever the hell your dad is from."

An eye roll. "He's from Monaco. And I'll have you know, Spinnet, I'm fluent in both official languages." Alicia stared at her sceptically. "Fine. I'm fluent in French and conversational in Arabic. Are you happy?"

"Uh, nah. They're still languages _I_ don't speak. Hold a convo with me in Welsh; I speak _that_."

"Of course you do; you're from Wales."

"Precisely," Alicia remarked in an overly pompous voice, "and you're from merry old England – West London to be exact." She shook her head in shame. "D'ya reckon you could speak like it?"

"Well, if you must know, I said that it was _supposed_ to hurt." She smirked. "Then I called you an overgrown baby. And I live in _North _London with all the other working class folk."

"Because you control my money – and because you have parents that wrestle tigers for _fun_ – I will let that go." She laughed scathingly. "And you were born in West London, you lived in West London prior to your separation from Fred, your boyfriend lives in West London, your brother and parents all live in West London, and you're moving there with George when you get married." She took a breath before continuing. "The fact that you are _temporarily_ slumming with the rest of us means _nothing_."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Angelina said inattentively as she went back to her previous activity – checking out her surroundings. "This place is gorgeous. Look at all the lush greenery…"

Alicia let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like the word "trees."

Angelina continued as if she didn't even hear her. "And the lake…"

"Freakishly big puddle..."

"And check out that golf course!"

"Boring, old men in ugly pants!"

Angelina whirled on her heel to face her best friend. "Look, Alicia, this was your bleeding idea. If all you were going to do was badmouth the place, then why in the bloody hell did you bring me here?"

"Actually, I think the country is picturesque and has a nice, quiet charm." Angelina made a face at Alicia's statement and Alicia stuck out her tongue before finishing. "But you said you liked it so I had to disagree with you." She smirked and added calmly, "You know how it is, don't you, _Danisha_?"

Angie fought to keep her left fist from shooting out of its own accord. Instead she replied, just as coolly, "Yeah, I know, _Ads_," making sure to use Fred, George, and Lee's nickname for her. For her trouble, she received a very cheesed off threat in her ear.

"Angelina, I can't hex you because we're in Muggle Leicester, but Merlin help you when we make it home. I'll hand you over to the centaurs and let them have their way with you."

Angelina considered ignoring Alicia's warning…and then thought about the stories she'd always heard about centaurs. Using her better judgement, she decided to lay off her best friend and therefore returned to the previous exchange. "It is lovely, though, isn't it?" she gushed.

"Like a picture," her companion remarked dryly. "What did you expect, Angie? It _is_ a health farm."

"Oh, I don't know. Certainly not this; it reminds me of Hogwarts, except smaller."

"More like your parents' house, except _a lot_ smaller." Angelina stared at her. "But I do understand what you're getting at. The only difference is that there are masseuses to wait on us hand and foot." She paused for a moment. "And no house elves."

"I thought you were going to mention the lack of classes."

"No, there are classes. Just none as boring as History of Magic." The two women laughed heartily as they opened the heavy wooden door that led to the grand foyer.

* * *

Inside…

The two women walked inside the weighty oak entrance and stepped inside a huge atrium with lots of mahogany woodwork. To their immediate left, they could smell various aromas coming from the dining room. Alicia, being the food expert, instantly gravitated toward it. She took two steps before Angelina grabbed hold of her jumper collar and dragged her back. "You can eat later, cow. We need to check in."

The pair continued walking straight ahead, Angelina still holding onto Alicia's pullover and ignoring her companion's mumbling about how she never gets to do anything fun, until they reached the receptionist. "Welcome to Ragdale Hall Health Hydro," she said in a bored monotone. "I'll be with you in just a mo…" She trailed off when she finally looked up. "Flaming Nora! I'm so sorry, Ms. Johnson! Your secretary _did_ call and say you'd be here around this time. You and your friend have full use of all the facilities for the day. Your mother's private table is reserved in the dining room for you…" Alicia's mouth watered at this. "…And Tyrique and James are waiting for you whenever you're ready."

Angelina turned to Alicia. "Secretary?" she asked sceptically.

Alicia started backing up towards the far wall. "Well, you see…"

"Alicia Dawn Spinnet, you'd better explain yourself in as few words as quickly as possible," came Angelina's warning.

"Well, it was going to take you a while to agree to go, so I wasn't going to be able to make the arrangements. So your mother called Janine to find out who your secretary was, and then she called Jill, who set everything up."

"Mm-hmm. So what you're telling me is that not only did you tell my mother that I'm separated from Fred and that I'm currently seeing his twin brother, but that you convinced her to make arrangements to bring me here?"

"_No_, Ange. This was completely _her and Janine's_ idea. And everyone knows that you can't say no to Lecerta Johnson." A look of pure horror crossed Alicia's face at the mere thought. "It's like signing your death wish. No offence, but that entire side of your family is completely crazy."

Angelina sighed as the anger visibly left her. She couldn't really blame Alicia; her mother's family _was_ completely nutters. The fact that the vast majority of them had joined the dark side, with her Aunt Bellatrix actually going so far as to actually become the Dark Lord's lover – if you could call it that – was proof enough of that. As for her cousin Narcissa, the less said about _her_ family, the better. Besides, having been on the receiving end of her mum's temper…it was safe to say that under those circumstances, Alicia had done the sensible thing. "None taken. I know how she is."

"It came down to your temper or hers and, let's face it, she's more likely to use an Unforgivable than you."

"Damn it, Spinnet! I told you that I understood." Angelina's palm hit the left side Alicia's head. "For fuck's sake, quit while you're ahead for once." Ignoring Alicia's moan from the force of the slap, she turned to the receptionist who appeared to be cowering at her desk.

"We're kind of hungry. I think we'll visit that private table now." The desk clerk nodded slightly and picked up the phone. She mumbled something unintelligible into the receiver and waited for an answer before hanging up.

"I just rang the restaurant. They're in the process of setting out new china for you and your friend," she said shakily. "Just turn around and walk to the end of this corridor and it'll be directly on your right."

The two women retraced their steps until they found themselves in front of the entryway that led them into the formal dining room. The maître d'hôtel accosted them at the door and bowed. "_Bonjour_ Mam'selle Johnson," he boomed in a French accent before eyeing Alicia with disdain, "and **_guest_**."

It took all of Angelina's strength to hold her best friend back. Instead of retorting at the obvious disrespect of Alicia, she merely said, "Could you please direct us to our table?"

"But of course, Mam'selle," he responded before bowing again. "Right this way, _sil vous plait_." He led them towards a table for two in the back of the restaurant, but far enough away from the kitchen that they wouldn't be bowled over by the aromas wafting from it. In front of them, an oak fireplace was roaring with a cheery-looking fire. Above the hearth, an Impressionistic painting hung on the wall in a gold frame. On the table lay a white, linen tablecloth with a smaller, bronze, satin tablecloth lying diagonally on top of it. At the far end of the restaurant, they could see a buffet serving station made of pure mahogany.

The maître d' noticed them looking at the buffet and presented Angelina a menu with a flourish and another bow. "Surely you do not want what the _masses_ are having Mam'selle." He smiled brightly and Angelina was given a glimpse of his teeth, clearly stained yellow from years of tobacco abuse. _Ugh_, she thought, _and they say **we** have bad teeth_. "In here you will find cuisine that will certainly delight the palate of a refined woman of privilege such as yourself. Your waiter will be here to take your order in a moment." He started to walk away.

"Oy! What about me?" Alicia exclaimed. The headwaiter turned around and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Eat off the buffet and go to hell when you are finished."

"But _of course_," he spat. "How could I forget you?" He shoved a menu in front of her and hurried away.

"What horrible service," Alicia said to her friend. "I can't believe your mother would actually come here."

"What can I say? It's her type of place. People catering to her every whim so she can compare how much richer she is than everyone else? My mum lives a charmed life and wants everyone to know it."

Just as Angelina finished her statement, a strikingly tall waiter approached the table, pen in hand. As he came closer, his features came into view. Alicia stared at the man in amazement. Even though she had never seen this Adonis before, everything about him seemed oddly familiar. As she stared into his warm, brown eyes, gazed at his lean, but chiselled body, and let her eyes roam over his velvety, mocha skin, the light glinting off his smooth, bald head struck her. Then a sexy baritone voice came from betwixt his captivating lips. "Angie!" he cried out, hugging the gorgeous African girl. _Great_, Alicia thought, _another of her fans. Why can't _I _get a man?_

Angelina looked at the waiter with the expression on her face switching back-and-forth between confused and ecstatic. "Chad! What are you doing here!" Then sensing she was ignoring her best friend she turned to Alicia. "Leesh, this is my older cousin Chadwick. Chad, this is my best friend Alicia Spinnet."

Alicia, struck dumbfounded as she recognized the waiter's face, could only say one thing. "What fresh hell?"

"What she means to say is 'Why Chad, I'm so pleased to meet you.' "

Alicia, with fire in her eyes, could only look back and forth between the two cousins. Then she punched Angelina in the arm. "How could you not tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Angelina asked genuinely confused.

"That you were related to Chad Jameson. I mean, honestly, did you lose your mind?"

"Chadwick James Johnson, what is she on about?"

"Well…you see it's like this, Ange…"

"It's like what?"

"I got this part on that programme, _EastEnders_…"

"So?"

"There's already both a 'Chad Johnson' and a 'Chad J. Johnson' in the Screen Actors Guild, so I had to change my name for professional purposes."

"Mm-hmm."

"Don't be like that, Angelina. Mum and Dad understood."

"Yeah, well Aunt Jada and Uncle Jason aren't the ones who can disown you from one of the most powerful families in Britain."

"Please, don't tell Grandmum and Granddad. If they find out, I'll be expelled from the family. And _then_ they'll have me fired."

Angelina sighed, while Alicia just stared with her mouth gaping like a fish. "Fine, I won't tell." She sighed again. "Why are you working in a spa restaurant if you're on the telly?"

"My character just got a job as a waiter. Figured I might as well get some real work experience to get into character. And so I have something to fall back on after I'm disowned." He smiled brightly. "So now that you know what I'm doing, can I take your drink order before Jacques sacks me for harassing you?"

"Yeah. I'd like a Vanilla Chai," Angelina said.

"Do you want that hot or frozen?" Chad asked, whipping out his order book.

"Hot. I want it made with soy milk and a little cinnamon on top. I'd also like a glass of mineral water."

"And for you, Miss Spinnet?"

"R-r-r w-w-w…" Alicia stuttered, trying to get her order out. She was still in awe of Chad.

"Your red wine will be out shortly."

Alicia managed to find her voice. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." He closed his order book. A short time later he came back and set down their beverages. "Are you ready to order?" The women nodded. "I'll start with you, Alicia."

Alicia cleared her throat before she began. "I'd like chicken and duck terrine, the lamb, and the potatoes."

"And for you, cousin?"

"I'll have the Aubergine cannelloni, the spaghetti, and the potatoes," Angelina replied, handing the menu to Chad. Alicia did the same.

"I'll have the chef get started on it right away."

Alicia stared after him. "I don't remember him going to Hogwarts with us. What house was he in?"

Angelina shook her head at her obviously sprung friend. "You don't remember him attending with us because he's not a wizard."

"He's a Squib? Such a shame. I didn't think a bloke could be that sexy without drinking some sort of Attractiveness Potion."

Angelina sighed with frustration. "He's my cousin on my _father's _side, you crazy bint. He's a Muggle."

"Oh, that's _right_. You _are_ a half-blood, ain't ya?"

Whatever Angelina was going to say was interrupted by Chad coming back with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. He lifted the cover off of Angelina's cannelloni and placed it in front of her. Then he positioned the chicken and duck terrine in front of Alicia and removed the cover with a bow. He then lifted a bucket with a bottle of chilled Dom Pérignon Rosé from the tray, uncorked it, and deftly filled a glass for each woman. He poured a little more into and held Alicia's flute slightly longer, an act that did not go unnoticed by his cousin.

The two friends ate and chatted – well, mostly Alicia grilled Angelina about Chad. Whenever he came back to refill their drinks, all conversation ceased and they looked at him with creepy smiles. As soon as he left, they burst into giggles.

After finishing their meal, they left a tip – and Alicia left something extra: her phone numbers at her flat, at the bakery, and on her mobile. She debated leaving her fax as well, but Angelina insisted that it wasn't necessary; if he wanted to ring her, he would ring her. And so the girls walked back out of the restaurant and headed for the massage parlour to meet Tyrique and James.

* * *

**A/N #2**: And that's where this chapter ends. It was originally longer, but reading back over it, the masseuses' part just wasn't interesting. It was pretty much Alicia drooling over them, which didn't work because I had just introduced Chad, who is going to be one of the guys who fight over her (and I'm neither telling you who the other guy is nor which one wins. You'll have to read for that). Forgive me. I know that Chad seems to be going the way of a Gary Stu, but he won't stay that way for long. His flaws are numerous and eventually Alicia _will_ see them. Just not this early in the story. Chapter Four should take nowhere near as long this one to get written, edited, and posted. In it, you'll get to see what George is like when he goes shopping. And as an added bonus, you will meet Lee's Uncle Martin (yes, the very same one that was referenced in Chapter Two) from whom he inherited his fashion sense. 


	5. Four

A/N and Disclaimer: Wow, there's nothing like reading an amazing fic to get your arse moving (thanks to **Kendra **for the brilliance of "Lessons"). Here's the fourth chapter (or five, if you count the prologue), folks. As usual, I don't own any of the places used in this chapter (Tuxedo Junction and Geo F. Trumper, to be exact). I know it seems odd that no one would balk at Lee using Angelina's credit card (she flooed it to him before she and Alicia left for the spa), but he had already informed her where he was going, so she called ahead. That's why it took Lee and George so long to get service: the salesman was on the phone with Angelina.

* * *

Lee snapped his mobile shut and shook his head at how nearly impossible his task was. In less than four hours, he was supposed to manage to convince George to go shopping for a suit that he'd probably never wear again and to get a Lestrange-Johnson approved haircut. He shook his head again. He loved Angelina like a sister, but what she was asking him to do was akin to suicide.

He thought for a moment before realizing that his best chance lay with the element of surprise. If he called George first, then he stood the risk of his friend being ready with a hex for him – or not being there at all – when he made it to the shop. But if he went to the shop first… He could grab George when Fred's back was turned and Apparate before either twin knew what the fuck was going on. "Kates!" he shouted to the front of the bakery, hoping that they didn't have any customers at the moment.

His wife came running immediately with a worried look on her face. "What's wrong? Who's in St. Mungo's? Are we losing the bakery? Did my mum die?!!!" Lee just stared at her in disbelief before dissolving into a fit of laughs.

"No one is in St. Mungo's, we're not losing the bakery, and – sadly – your mother isn't dead." He ignored the indignant look that Katie shot him. "That was Angie. She wants me to take George shopping for tonight."

Katie sighed with relief. "Oh, is that all? Merlin, I thought it was something import…" She trailed off when she realised what it would entail. "No! Absolutely not!" she yelled. "I will be damned if my husband is hexed to death because _she_ can't control hers."

Lee quirked an eyebrow at his wife. "I'm sorry. I don't think the ex-Death Eaters in Bulgaria heard you, love. D'ya reckon you could repeat yourself?"

"Shut up, Lee," Katie muttered, while discreetly searching the room for a non-baked good to throw at him. When she didn't find one, she continued in a normal volume. "You knew what I meant. You know how George feels about those formal gatherings where you're supposed to act proper and all that. He'd hex you as soon as you made it there."

"I know, love. But I think I can get away with it." He then proceeded to tell his wife all about his plan. "You see," he finished, "it's completely idiot-proof."

Katie shook her head, blonde ringlets swaying about her face. "You're right. It proves you're an idiot." Lee started to say something, but she held up her hand to cut him off. "You can't possibly expect this work. The second you two end up at Trumpers, he'd suspect something was up."

Here, Lee interjected. "But…"

His wife continued like she never heard him. "And furthermore, how would you get there, huh? It's owned by Muggles, so it isn't on the Floo network."

"Well, we could…"

"And don't you _think_ about telling me that you're going to Apparate! There are too many wealthy Muggles around for that. I will _not _get an owl from the Ministry saying my husband was arrested for performing magic in the presence of them. This is un –" Before she could finish, Lee's lips were on hers and all efforts to continue her tirade were futile.

* * *

20 Minutes Later….

Lee and George stepped off the Green Park tube in Piccadilly, George looking at his surroundings with an expression of confusion upon his face. "Oy, Jordan, where's this pub you were telling me about?"

"It's about seven minutes away," the Scot answered absentmindedly. "Near the shop my uncle works at. He's on Curzon; the pub is on Shepard's Market."

"Oh. It doesn't serve that haggis crud that you're so fond of, does it?"

Lee rolled his eyes while trying to ignore the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that always showed up whenever sheep stomachs were mentioned. "No, it's a regular English pub. And for the last fucking time, I _don't _eat haggis."

The pair chatted as they made their way towards Mayfair. Finally, they found themselves in front of Geo F. Trumper's flagship shop and Lee started to head inside. George raised a suspicious eyebrow at his friend. "Since when is Britain's most famous barber shop a pub?"

Lee let out a pronounced sigh, pretending to be exasperated while wishing George wasn't so close to being on to him. "I reckoned we could pop in and see my uncle since we were 'round this way. But…if you want to put me on the outs with my family, go right ahead." He held his breath, hoping that George would take the bait. It was a fifty-fifty situation: depending on what kind of mood he was in, George would either be sympathetic or indifferent. Lee silently prayed that this wasn't one of the latter.

"All right, I guess. But only because I want to meet him."

* * *

5 Minutes Later…

Lee and George walked into the world-renowned Geo F Trumper barber shop in Mayfair. Lee immediately headed towards the cubicle of a tall, well-dressed man of African descent. Thankfully, the chair in front of him was empty. "Lee, my boy!" the man's booming baritone voice exclaimed while he held his arms out for his favourite nephew.

Lee embraced Martin while George looked him up and down. He had to admit that Martin Harris was not what he had pictured at all. Granted, all Lee mentioned was that he was gay, which brought to mind stereotypical images of a guy flouncing around in a bright pink feather boa. The man in front of him was wearing a tailored suit which hugged his body and showed off all of his muscles. The man was built like that American footballer that Angelina was always fawning over whenever she watched Dallas Cowboy games on the telly – What's-His-Name, Roy Williams. His hair was cut neatly and he wore Gucci sunglasses perched on his head. Not at all what he had expected. Just then, Lee looked up at him. "Uncle Martin, this is my friend George. George this is my Uncle Martin."

Martin held out his right hand and gave George's a firm shake. "It's nice to meet you. Wish I could say the same thing about your hair, though. When was the last time you did something to it?"

"Well, I brushed it this morning…"

"That isn't enough, mate. It needs to be cut. That amount of hair is unnecessary. All it does is weigh you down and it's not sexy at all. _And,_" he took a deep breath before continuing, "and you need a shave!"

"My girlfriend has _no_ complaints."

Lee rolled his eyes. "Uncle Martin, his girlfriend is Angelina Johnson."

Martin snorted. "That explains a lot. The poor girl needs a personal stylist like Naomi Campbell needs rehab. She's fucking gorgeous, but there's a reason she ends up on Mr. Blackwell's worst dressed list every year."

Lee stood on his toes to whisper into his uncle's ear. "We're taking care of that right now at Ragdale Hall. Now we need you to work your magic on him – figuratively speaking, of course. He's meeting her parents for the first time as her boyfriend and not her friend."

"What's up with all that 'boyfriend' stuff? I thought they were married?" Martin whispered back.

"Nope. She's separated from his twin brother. _He's_ the one she's married to."

"Mm-hmm. Way too much scandal for me."

George was getting impatient. "What in the bloody hell are you two whispering about?"

Lee started to answer, but Martin beat him to it. "Just discussing that atrocity that is your hair. Do something nice for your girlfriend and get in the chair."

"No. I have plans."

"Yeah, and they're probably with your girlfriend. Now get in the damn chair."

"Lee, is this for real? I'm on Britain's Funniest Videos, right?"

"George?"

"Yeah, Lee?"

"Sit your ass in that chair right this second."

"Merlin, you take things too seriously. Yes, _Mum_."

George sat in the chair as he was ordered dropped the back of the chair. Before he could ask what was going on, Martin informed him that he was going to have a mini-facial because his "pores were big enough to fall into" and a manicure because his hands were "dryer than the Sahara." Martin placed a warm, wet towel on his face and removed it two minutes later. He then scrubbed George's face before taking a warmer towel and placing it on his face. While he wouldn't admit it aloud, George was glad that he didn't protest out of the interest of time; the treatment was relaxing.

While he waited for the steam to unclog George's pores, Martin started the manicure. First, prepared a bowl of warm water and soaked George's hands to loosen the dirt underneath his nails before drying them and removing the grime with a warm towel. He then smoothed the skin with an exfoliator before buffing the nails with an emery board. Finally, he massaged the skin with an unscented lotion, which elicited a pleasurable sigh from George. Martin laughed before going back to the facial. He removed the towel and applied a mask; all the while chatting up Lee. When it was dry, he rinsed off the mask and applied toner and moisturiser.

It was then time for the haircut and shave. The cut went by quickly, to George's amazement, considering how much ginger-coloured hair littered the floor. The shave seemed to take longer since it was one of the "wet shaves" that Trumper was famous for. To start with, Martin soaked a hand towel in hot water and wrapped it around George's face. Next, he removed the towel and massaged a Lime-scented Skin Food against the grain of the beard. He then wet the face before applying shaving cream with a badger brush. He used a warm razor to complete the shave. After refusing payment because he considered George a charity case, Martin sent them on their way. And because George was so relaxed, he waited until they were outside to yell at Lee.

"What the in the bloody hell was that?! You fucking set me up!"

"Well, you enjoyed it! I swear I heard you snoring at one point."

"That's not the point! The point is that you pretended that we were going to a pub and you tricked me into getting a haircut!"

"Well, forgive me for not wanting my best friend to look like a complete dumbarse in front of his future in-laws! Seeing as you _are_ their current son-in-law's brother, I'm not exactly sure that you're their favourite person right now. Besides…" Lee trailed off.

"Besides, what?"

"Besides, Angelina wanted me to do this for you! She also wanted me to take you shopping. She really wants you to make a good impression so that the parents see you as a potential son-in-law and not as, well, little Georgie Weasley."

George sighed. He _really_ did not want to do this, but it _was_ for Angelina… "All right then. Where to?"

Lee smiled like the Cheshire Cat. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

30 Seconds Later…

Lee and George walked into the glass double doors of Tuxedo Junction, situated in Gloucester's Westgate Galleria. George looked around fearfully, expecting overeager salespeople to accost them immediately. It didn't happen. As a matter of fact, Lee had to walk up to the counter and ring the bell for some assistance, which led to a tall, gangly man to come out. "Can I help you?" he squeaked, his voice more representative of a thirteen-year-old boy than of a grown man in his mid-forties.

George covered his mouth in an effort to contain his laughter while Lee conversed with the retailer. "Yes, you can. My friend here is in need of a suit for a formal occasion."

"Does he desire to rent or to purchase?"

"Purchase. He'll be attending several functions with a formal dress code."

"Well, we have several styles that will address his needs. First, allow me to present the Shawl Collar Dinner Suit," the salesman said, gesturing the two men to follow him. He stopped in front of black single-breasted suit with a satin shawl style collar. A mauve cummerbund with matching bow tie completed the look. "Of course, you can choose any colour tie and cummerbund set."

Lee picked up on George's emphatic head shaking. "I'm not exactly sure that traditional is the way we want to go. Do you have something a bit more…contemporary?"

"Certainly, sir. If you come this way, we have an excellent Nehru-style jacket and trouser set…"

Lee interrupted him before he could continue. "I don't think that we need something quite _that_ contemporary. Do you have something that's modern, but still elegant?"

The merchant sighed. "Well, we _do_ have a three-button lounge suit…"

Just then George interjected. "Lounge suit? That sounds perfect. I'll take it!"

Lee rolled his eyes. "May we see it first? He doesn't exactly have the best eye for design."

The salesman shrugged. "Right this way." The friends followed him and, sure enough, it was the perfect suit.

"Can we try that in a thirty-eight with a waistcoat? And with a tie or cravat?" The vendor brought both. Lee ordered George to try the suit on, first with the cravat, then with the tie. "I _guess_ that's a decent fit. I think I prefer it with the tie."

George looked at his best friend with a mixture of amazement and confusion. _What is he on about? It looks and feels like it was _made_ for me._ Then he realised that Lee was being casual about it in hopes that it would net him a deal. Lee's voice interrupted his thoughts. "How much?"

"It will be £1,271. Included in the price are the suit, waistcoat, shirt, and tie. Would you like to add anything to your purchase? We have a great assortment of accessories such as top hats, shoes, pocket watches, and walking sticks."

Lee, who had been planning to talk down the price until he actually heard it, started to shake his head 'no' before remembering something else. "Actually, we would. May we see your selection of cufflinks?" The salesman escorted them to the case in the back of the shop where Lee chose an understated pair of cufflinks in white gold. "And can we get the waistcoat and tie in another colour? Wine, perhaps?"

"Certainly. That brings your total to £1,425." Lee handed over the credit card and he and George exited the shop, garment bag in hand.


End file.
